Shadow of the Kurgan
by Whey Ayelander
Summary: The giant immortal Kurgan stalks the ancient world battling for the prize...


_**SHADOW OF THE KURGAN.**_

**Prologue...**

**326 bce. The battle of Hydaspes.**

Only a short time ago, the Kurgan had stood before his friend and mentor as the little Arab sat cross legged on the desert sands, his boney face twisted in its permanent lop-sided grin.

"Are you certain?" growled the black robed giant.

The little man had looked up at him, his dark eyes full of amusement and he nodded.

Kurgan still didn't understand why he tolerated the others company.

Centuries older and wiser than Kurgan, the little Arab was the only one of his kind he had met who wasn't afraid of him.

Also, uncannily the Arab had a strange power... a sight, a gift he used to track down the others of their kind. In this way he said, he had sought out the Kurgan himself.

He liked the way the little man mocked him sometimes and he had learned a great deal about his immortality and about what the Arab called... the Game.

"Within the Macedonian ranks are two of our kind, one is a captain, a veteran fighter and the other a youth whose immortality is yet to be awakened..."

"But they are strong... yes?" Hissed the Kurgan.

"Yes they are strong and..." the little Arabs grin faded, "they both must... die."

Kurgan grinned, his black tongue pressed against filed teeth, "Are you not coming?"

The little man shook his head quietly and closed his eyes.

Kurgan turned away satisfied, uncurious as to why the Arab did not want to share and made off to join the waiting Indian army... the more power for him.

He felt the battle lust rising within him and longed for the familiar sensation which the Arab called... the quickening.

"Soon," he mused greedily, "soon..."

Hours later, the army of Poros...

Kurgan found himself screaming at the top of his lungs as he crashed his war elephant into the advancing Macedonian cavalry.

There were two hundred of the great beasts in a virtually unstoppable charge crushing man and horse alike underfoot, their screams and the sounds of their breaking bones indistinguishable from each other.

He bent his bow sending shaft after shaft into the enemy riders and all the while his senses strained to detect the others of his kind.

They were there, he knew, somewhere and he longed to meet them in battle and to separate their heads from their necks with the great sword he carried.

**The Macedonian army.**

"Onwards!" screamed the captain, Acastus.

It was said that he had fought in all the campaigns of Alexander and, it was rumored, with Philip before him, his bony face and wiry frame were scarred beyond belief.

The Macedonians under Acastus grinned as they advanced. They called Acastus the wolf and were proud of their captains reputation for being a tough fighter and a steady war leader.

What the men could not know and, what Acastus did not yet understand was that the old captain was immortal.

Twenty years ago or more, in the aftermath of a skirmish he had awakened in a pile of rotting corpses with a shock of breath and the remembered pain of a wound which no longer bled.

What he truly was, Acastus did not know but what he had learned frightened him like nothing else.

He could not die like the soldiers around him, nor did he age, mortal wounds gained in battle healed without trace.

None of the scolars and philosophers he had approached could help him to find any answers.

The answer, he decided, was to be content... to be a soldier, to serve Alexander, the battle king and to make war upon _his _enemies...

He raised his sword, screaming a battle cry which was echoed down the line of the advancing phalanx.

As the advance began he spied the tall, muscular youth, Hector.

Acastus liked Hector, a good soldier, he thought, a steady shield and yet... there was something about the young man which disquieted him...

An aura? An essence? Acastus frowned.

The whisper of some power yet to be awakened. Somehow he sensed that he and the youth were linked in a way he could not yet understand and so, he had contrived to have the youth serve under him so he could watch him...

"Onwards!" he screamed, "onwards you sons of whores, you gutter spawn!"

The men took up the battle cry and clashed, on open field against the army of Poros.

**Atop an elephant…**

As the battle raged, Kurgan cast his experienced eye across the open field and saw his side being overwhelmed. It was the Macedonians who were destined to win that day, it was inevitable, their army had after all conquered nearly half of Asia and they outnumbered Poros army three to one.

All the Indian army had in its favour were its two hundred great war elephants.

Victory for his army was not something the Kurgan expected nor did he even desire to win, for to him the battle was merely an enjoyable convenience, a means to get close to the two Macedonian immortals and the great beast he rode would carry him unscathed into the heart of the fighting.

Malevolently, his black eyes glinted and his thin lips spread wide in a smile as the behemoth he rode crushed another man beneath its feet, the Macedonian soldiers terrifying scream was cut mercifully short as his bones cracked and splintered.

Kurgan loosed more arrows piercing one man through the throat and another struck in the leg fell victim to the charging elephant.

All the while his senses strained to detect the other immortals...

Recognising that the war elephants were the only true threat to them, the Macedonians attacked the elephant column...

Difficult if not impossible to kill outright, the great behemoths when wounded were prone to stampede uncontrolably and for this purpose, each of the _mahouts_, elephant riders, carried a hammer and chisel to crack the beasts skull open and end their rampage...

As the charge began to flag, Kurgan urged his own beast onwards, his battle frenzy married to that of the wild behemoth he rode.

His elephant pulled away from the line and forced its way deep into the Macedonian troops crushing bodies, smashing bones and trampling any that got in its way and all the while the Kurgan continued to fire his short curved Indian bow wreaking random havoc among Alexanders army and keeping the giant grimly amused, sating his bloodlust.

Kurgan felt the quickening and battle frenzy almost overcame him, his mouth watered, his eyes became wild.

_Where were they?_

Acastus company of infantry were now closing up against the lone elephant. Shaking off the unfamiliar nauseous feeling in his gut, the captain drove his troops forwards.

"The trunk you bastards," screamed the old veteran, "hack its damned trunk off!"

The trunks were the most vunerable part of an elephant and that wound alone surely rout the beast.

Within the phalanx, Hector rose up in front of the elephant and with a mightly sweep of his sword hacked into the elephant trunk...

Kurgan roared as the behemoth screamed and bucked wildly, its pain driving it insane.

Thrown off balance the giant leaned forwards and smashed his chisel down into the elephants skull which cracked open with a spray of gore.

As the beast twisted and keeled over sideways crushing several of the soldiers in its death throes Kurgan seized his great curved sword and threw himself clear, landing heavily on the rocky ground.

The Kurgan rose now surrounded and alone deep within the Macedonian ranks and gripped his sword tightly, he could feel the other immortals close by but he was met by a wall of round Macedonian shields.

He roared... his black robes swirled about him as he smashed into the wall of soldiers with great blows of his heavy sword hammering the men back before him, wild and hungry for battle.

He cleaved a mans ribs with one stroke, decapitated another with the backswing of his sword... Kurgan gripped one of the soldiers by the throat and hurled the man contemptuously back into his fellows, he hardly felt the blades which were driven into his body so wild was his battle rage.

Hector stood before the black robed giant and saw the wild insane light in the Kurgans eyes, "You!" screamed the giant, "you, come to Kurgan... come and die!"

Awed by the giants power Hector faltered and the Kurgan simply thrust his sword into the youths chest...

"Ah ha ha ha ha haaaa!"

Kurgan raised his great sword, "You don't know what you are boy..." he yanked Hectors helmet off and dragged the Macedonians head back with a snarl, "you never will!"

Hector flailed feeblyand dropped to his knees... his battle had become a nightmare, his strength failed... the enemy were no longer men but foul demons with blackened tongues and jagged teeth...

He prepared to die...

"There can be only one!"

Kurgan raised his sword for the final blow... then stopped.

He looked down to see a sword tip protruding from his chest. His heart burned like the fires of hell... he felt limp, his strength failed and he dropped to his knees as other blades joined the first hacking into Kurgans torso and limbs.

As his vision faded and his lips dripped blood, the last thing he saw was the captain, Acastus leaning over him.

Kurgan managed one last deadly smile and croaked faintly, "Another... time Macedonian."

"Whoreson," snarled Acastus, he spared a last glance for the fallen youth Hector and spat on the Kurgans massive body.

"Rot in hell."

Acastus could not quite settle himself around the giants body for he could sense the power it still emanated and he did not understand the strange sensation he himself experienced. Instead he left the Kurgan where he had fallen and drove his men on... and on, to bloody victory.

**After the battle...**

Hector awoke in a panic, flopping about in a pool of his own blood, surrounded by fallen comrades.

He drew in a massive shocking breath and launched himself shakily to his feet looking at the battle field and the hundreds of dead men and beasts piled amongst each other.

The world seemed to scream at him, his senses overloaded... sights... sounds...

The colours seemed brighter than before, the sounds were not merely heard but penentrated his being.

He felt a part of the world...

Strange.

Hadn't he died?

His head pounded and he looked up to see the captain approaching. Acastus looking strangely at him.

"Aye, I thought so," said the captain affirming something to himself.

Hector, like the dark giant from the battle was like him... unable to die.

Hector looked down at his bloody hands...

"Captain... what has happened to me?"

Acastus shrugged, "I know not lad, but the same thing happened to me some twenty or so years ago. I can be killed but... I cannot truly die."

He tapped his head, "You feel that?"

The youth nodded, his head was still pounding fit to burst...

"I felt the same sensation the first time we met, and also when the dark warrior came upon us in the battle...

He sought us out..."

"But why?"

"I know not." said Acastus shaking his head.

"What are we to do then?"

"What do we do now?" smiled Acastus, "Its not as if we have anything to fear anymore... is it?"

The youth grinned...

_They stayed with the army until 323 b.c. and the death of Alexander the Great, then began to wander the world..._

**Later...**

The Arab could not remember when the gift of the farsight had first come to him nor was it something he could explain to another immortal.

Without searching or sensing he simply knew exactly where and when to find certain others and with that gift came visions; glimpses, images... sometimes the sensation of fear or dread as when he had sought out the Kurgan, as also when he and the giant sought out these two Macedonian immortals.

But the images were fragmented... incomplete, not easy to understand.

Sometimes when the gift touched him, the Arab was uncertain of his own fate... as he sat cross legged on the sand awaiting the return of the Kurgan he did feel a certain sense of doom...

_So it is today... _he mused.

The quickening came to him and the Arab opened his eyes at the sound of the Kurgans heavy footfalls.

Kurgan was grim, his mood as black and bloody as the robes he wore... he had longed to gain the quickenings of the Macedonians and he did not like to be cheated of his prize.

"Are they dead?" asked the Arab.

Kurgan grunted and shook his head, "Lost them in the battle," he barked a laugh, "killed a few dozen Greeks and an elephant instead."

"They still live?"

There was something about the Arabs tone which puzzled Kurgan but still he grinned broadly at his friend showing the rows of filed teeth, "Yesss, but there will be another chance, we can track their army."

The Arab shook his head sadly and began to shake uncontrolably as the visions overcame him, "There will be no other time. It is too late."

"Too late... what?"

Kurgan stared now straight at the Arab.

If there was one lesson the Arab had taught him it was to kill other immortals straight away... never allow them time to grow stronger and more skillfull.

He could not understand his teachers behavior.

The little man spoke quickly now as one in a fever, his eyes misted over.

"They live... as do you, it is too late to stop them."

The Arab made to stand.

"As... do... I?" repeated Kurgan slowly but the Arab was not looking at them.

Kurgans eyes narrowed, "Who was truly meant to die out there on the open sands... they or I?"

The Arab smiled slowly, "You shall not see the end Kurgan, the Sons of Macedon shall outlast you."

Kurgan shoved the smaller man backwards, the broadsword was held to his neck, "Are they a threat to me?"

The Arab laughed, "No longer large one... the threat to you comes first from Eygpt and then Caledonia."

"Where?" snarled the Kurgan, "when?"

The old Arab he no longer viewed as his friend, he was simply one other immortal who stood between himself... and the prize.

"You will know," the Arab said simply.

"Yesss," hissed Kurgan, "I will."

The great curved sword swept down and severed the Arabs head from his neck.

With the Arabs quickening came his gift of sight which served Kurgan well in the years and centuries to come.

He did search, but he never encountered the Macedonian immortals again...

**End.**


End file.
